


Coming Home.

by sergeantbarnes (flyboy_damneron)



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Torture, Past Brainwashing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Probably a lot more that I'm forgetting right now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 14:37:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1652216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyboy_damneron/pseuds/sergeantbarnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just little things I need to get out of my system, mostly situated post-Winter Soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home.

**Author's Note:**

> I just have a lot feels over Bucky aka Winter Soldier and how he's going to deal/is dealing with remembering.

He had to find him. Every remaining SHIELD agent, under or above ground, had tasked himself with seeking out the HYDRA cells that had survived the downfall and they weren’t planning to go easy on them. If they got their hands on the trophy, Winter Soldier, only God knew what they were going to do to him. SHIELD might’ve been the good guys, but they hadn’t always done good things. A lot of them were trained in being bad for a good cause.

Steve’s fingers drummed onto the steering wheel of his motorcycle as he manoeuvred his way through the busy DC traffic. It was six o’clock and people were heading home after another exhausting week at their boring jobs. He nearly ran over a young boy on a bicycle when he unexpectedly crossed the road. As the kid’s brown eyes stared up at him in shock, Steve had to shake himself from the thoughts that had been preoccupying him for weeks. He apologized extensively to the boy’s mother, who seemed all too overwhelmed by the fact she was actually talking to Captain America to realize her child could’ve been dead by now. Taking off again, Steve caught himself scanning his surroundings in hopes he saw his old friend’s familiar face.

With his mind on automatic pilot, he parked his black Harley in front of the small but comfortable townhouse he had moved to after the downfall of SHIELD, located in one of the better areas of the city. Once arrived at the front door, he immediately noticed something wasn’t right. The little flower pot to his left had been slightly moved, as a wet circle was visible on the ground, there where the pot was supposed to be. This meant someone had taken his spare key, ergo, someone had been in his house or was still there. His slender fingers curled around the handle of his shield, his free hand slowly pushing open the front door that the intruder had left unlocked.

An empty hallway came into sight. Everything seemed in order; his keys and spare wallet were still on the small stand near the door, his coats and shoes still neatly arranged against the wall. To the right, the entrance to the small living room didn’t reveal any signs of someone present tehre but he checked anyway. He then went through to the kitchen. Freezing in the opening of the door, he held his breath and stared at the back that was turned towards him.

“Hands where I can see them,” him voice demanded firmly.

Slowly, raising his hands into the air, the man began to turn around. However, Steve didn’t need to see his face to realize who he was. The metal hand that showed above the rough edges of an old jacket was enough to make his heart skip a beat and his hands tremble. Two bright blue eyes focused on him from behind a waterfall of greasy dark brown hair and dry lips formed words that didn’t sink in until a few seconds later.

“You still keep your spare key in the most obvious place.”

Steve’s hands dropped to his sides while tears blurred his sight. It was so unreal to hear that soft, low voice again, decades after he had heard it scream out his name while he had fallen to a certain death

“You remember?” he asked hesitantly; surprised and confused he didn’t remember his own name but did remember such a trivial thing.

“I’ve remembered a lot the past few days, Steve.”

Bucky speaking his name felt like a punch to his gut; for a moment he was left without a reply. In that moment of silence, he came closer to him with careful steps. His green eyes stayed glued to him, just like they had done when they’d first met. He’d been only twelve, Bucky was just a few years older than him. Once again, he’d gotten into a fight he knew he couldn’t win and suddenly, a handsome figure had dragged away the bullies before helping the thin, sickly boy to his feet. They’d been inseparable ever since. Neither highs not lows had been able to pull them apart. Watching his best friend die had crushed Steve. All too eager to escape the pain and guilt, he’d flown his plane into the ice, praying he’d follow Bucky to where-ever he’d gone.

Now they were both here, staring at each other in fascination; as if their eyes locked for the very first time.

“Stevie,” he whispered in a reflex.

If his actual name coming off his lips had already made Steve gasp for air, his nickname for him made him feel like he was about to faint. The tears were now silently dripping down his pale cheeks. No more being careful. His arms wrapped around Bucky and he buried his face in his neck. A stench of river water, dirt, sweat and blood filled his nose but he couldn’t have cared less. Underneath that he still smelled that comforting scent of his Bucky. For a second, he seemed to be taken back by Steve’s sudden actions but eventually his arms locked tightly around his waist; just like he had done when he had left for war.

“You came back to me,” Steve whispered in between his tears, his fingers locking in Bucky’s greasy hair.

“I did things, Steve. Horrible things. I – I barely remember them but sometimes, in my dreams, people will beg me to spare them and… I don’t. I kill them. I don’t understand, Steve. I didn’t want to hurt those people but they made me. And the pain…”

Steve could feel Bucky’s chest heave for air; he could feel him break inside his embrace and it pained him. Holding him close, standing there in the middle of the kitchen, they both cried and clung onto each other like they were drowning.

“It’s okay, Bucky. You’re safe now. You’re home.”

* * *

After what seemed like hours, Bucky stepped back, wiping at his eyes with the back of his good hand. He seemed uneasy again, not entirely sure if what he had just done had been the right thing. His hands slipped back into the pockets of his jacket as his gaze went everywhere except to Steve. The captain barely knew where they should go from here on; rehabilitating brainwashed HYDRA assassins wasn’t his expertise to say the least. He did figure a bath would do his best friend good. And perhaps a haircut.

Not minutes after leading Bucky upstairs to his small, baby blue bathroom, Steve realized his best friend’s situation was even worse than he’d expected. He seemed completely lost at the sight of the bath and his bright blue eyes glanced up at him helplessly. They’d reduced him to a child, without knowledge of anything besides killing people. Seeing him like this broke Steve’s heart. He felt guilty. If he’d searched for Bucky, properly searched for him, perhaps this wouldn’t have happened to him.  
Slowly, with careful movements, Steve began to undress Bucky as the soft rustling of running water sounded in the background. The room was filling up with the steam of the hot water and the smell of vanilla. His heart beat as if it wanted to escape his chest and he heard the rush of his blood in his ears. This was no time to feel the things he was feeling, but he did anyway. He couldn’t stop it.

First, the worn-out sneakers were kicked to the side, quickly followed by the ragged coat. With every piece of clothing that was shed, Bucky began to shiver a bit worse and his gaze stayed glued to the floor. After Steve pulled off his t-shirt, both men froze for just a moment. The captain couldn’t tear his eyes away from the place where metal met skin, cringing inwardly at how painful the wound looked. Not to mention the numerous scars that covered Bucky’s chest.

In an impulse, Steve brought his fingertips up to touch the swollen tissue. Bucky clenched his jaws, turning his gaze away so he wouldn’t be confronted with his greatest shame.

“Don’t,” he said softly as his flesh and blood fingers curled around Steve’s wrist and pushed his hand away.

“What did they do to you, Buck?” Steve breathed in response, his eyes tearing up once again.

“It doesn’t matter. There’s no turning back now.”

Without saying another word, Bucky kicked off his pants and boxers before sliding into the hot water. He just sat there for a few seconds, staring out in front of him with his knees pulled up against his chest. Steve knelt next to the tub, reached out to the sponge in the corner and emerging it in the water. Bucky’s skin was already turning a bright red and he worried the water was too hot, but was too afraid to ask. It seemed his friend preferred the silence.

Gently Steve began washing the dirt off Bucky’s shoulders, watching as the other man cringed at every touch but didn’t utter a sound. He just stared, allowing Steve to do whatever he wanted to do.

After washing him, Steve decided it was time to do something about the hair as well. Sitting on the edge of the tub, he asked Bucky to go under water for a second. In an always mechanic way, Bucky slid back and emerged himself in the water. However, he didn’t sit up again. His blue eyes just stared up at Steve through the surface of the water as bubbles popped up from his nose and lips. Within seconds, Steve’s hands shot out towards Bucky’s shoulders and he dragged him above water again. The other didn’t seem fazed by Steve’s horror. He barely even reacted to it.

For just a second, Steve closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart. Then, deciding it was best not to go on about it, he emptied the last bit of shampoo in the bottle into his hand and began massaging it into Bucky’s hair. The other tensed up for a moment, not sure how to react to the unfamiliar feeling but eventually did relax into Steve’s hands. Knowing HYDRA had even neglected to wash his best friend’s hair caused an anger he didn’t know to boil up in the pit of his stomach. Time and time again he was faced with the fact they had used and abused the one person he care the most about and he’d been powerless against it.

After rinsing the shampoo out, Steve asked Bucky to stand up and wrapped him in a large towel. He was just about to turn around and get some fresh clothes of his own for Bucky to wear, when he felt cold fingers wrap around his wrist and he was forced to face his naked friend again. Long strands of wet hair had fallen in front of Bucky’s face, hiding those beautiful blue eyes that looked at him. Steve could tell there was a pain in them that he couldn’t describe, as if he was dying inside but was too afraid to show. However, now, they harboured something else: gratitude.

“Thank you,” Bucky whispered hesitantly before releasing Steve’s wrist and glancing down again.

“Anything for you, Buck,” the captain replied equally as soft, a faint and sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

After seven decades, tables had turned and they’d switched roles. Now it was Steve taking care of Bucky, instead of the other way around, and he was determined to do his absolute best. He owed Bucky his life, and probably a lot more as well. Before walking out of the bathroom, he took a last glance at the most dangerous assassin in the world clumsily trying to dry himself and he smiled. Maybe nothing was perfect and there would be more downs than ups, but at least he had his best friend back. He wouldn’t let go of him again. This time, he’d catch his hand and pull him to safety.


End file.
